


Ignite

by rocktrumpet (paperchimes)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Lingerie, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Strap-Ons, Teasing, Top Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, soft dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperchimes/pseuds/rocktrumpet
Summary: “Pretty,” she breathes, coiling lithe fingers tighter around him, urging another helpless sound to erupt from his throat.---For the Witcher Zine.Featuring illustration byoffensetrain
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	Ignite

“Good show.”

It seems misplaced, how casually she’s addressing him after all that’s transpired. Geralt regards her briefly, glancing up from Roach’s reins to meet the rhythmic sway of her deep ebony hair. It’s as if she’s willing to disregard all that’s happened in the last month. He shudders in the cold evening air.

“Wretched thing never stood a chance, did it?” her voice pierces the silence again. 

She’s referring to what had been supposedly his latest mark, some abomination stalking the deeper woods a day’s ride away. He calls how it had clawed its way towards him, the bloodlust in its eyes, and just as he was about to land the final blow, a blast of magic had sent it flying towards the moonlit lake. By the time it landed, all that was left was a pile of grey ash.

“Mmm,” he hums.

Corvo Bianco looms carefully in the distance, a familiar beckoning outline cutting through the night. It’s dark. Devoid of activity since he last locked the door all those nights ago. He wonders vaguely whether Barnabas-Basil had cleaned up during this absence, his hands busying themselves with the reins. Wordlessly, he settles Roach into his stables, Yen tending to her own steed as well.

* * *

Moments later, the heavy lock of their front door clicks with little to no resistance. The familiar rush of wind and ozone fills the air and he watches as Yen’s sorcery pushes the door open, slithering past the dust, bringing light to the abandoned candles in their unpolished holders.

There’s a soft click of her lips as the room illuminates but she enters regardless, addressing a few key imperfections as she does. 

The cold autumn air billows past Geralt as he enters as well. The scent of worn leather and blood trails close by as he hoists his swords onto the dining table. They’re in a state, but he’ll polish them later. Right now, there are other matters to address. 

For instance, washing the stench from his armour, or the burning fact that a full moon cycle had passed since Yennefer last set foot into their home.

Speaking of which...

“I’m glad we had this,” she punctuates the silence with more banter, gesturing vaguely at nothing in particular. “Certainly that scuffle would’ve been a touch messier if I hadn’t led you to its nest.”

He’s not sure what she meant. If _she_ hadn’t led him? He’d been tracking the monster for weeks before she had disappeared without a trace.

“All in all, a good day’s work.”

She seems to say it with finality, coupled with the sound of heavy leather stirring the dust as it makes contact with the hardwood floors.

Geralt regards the boots she's decided to leave by their bedroom door.

_Huh_ _._

It’s followed by the telling _clink_ of metal unbuckling. Fastenings being unravelled. The soft hush as weavings of satin and lace slide off blushed porcelain skin and onto the floorboards.

_Oh_ _._

“Coming to bed?” Yen’s voice is coy, dripping with the allure she knows she radiates. That coupled with the heat that’s begun to swirl in his trousers, yes he’s very aware of how tightly she has him wound around her little finger.

“Hmmph,” he huffs, but it comes across less disinterested than he had intended. He can tell she notices too. He sees the glint in her eyes.

Another rush of wind, and he feels _her_. Hot slivers of magic - bold, delicate, just like her - slipping past his underclothes.

“Yen,” the singular word slips from him, more gasp than voice. Absent of any warning. Entwined with the fire the heat in his abdomen is edging at.

“Yes, my love?” 

“I need to say something,” he mumbles, maintaining composure as the aura slithers upwards, higher, edging along his ribs to envelope his chest.

“Oh?”

“You left again.”

“Just for a little while,” she assures.

“A month.”

She lets out a small laugh. “A heartbeat for an ageless thing like you,” she teases.

“An age for a heartless thing like me,” he returns, lacking the singsong lilt she used. Despite that, a grin plays on his lips.

“Oh, clever,” she tsks, giving a tap to the front of his clothes. “But inaccurate.”

She closes the distance between them, and he watches her. Full of wonder. Feeling her bewitching his soul all over again. When she looks at him, it feels like the fire from the sun, almost as if he’d burn if he looked too deeply.

He draws in a breath, feeling her palm drift along his armour, still-gloved fingertips teasing his clavicle. 

“There’s very much some substance here,” she decides, her hand now resting against his chest.

“Dimeritium,” he says pointedly.

“ _A heart_ , my love,” she sighs but it tapers into laughter.

“ _Aww_.” And it’s the most monotonous “aww” in all of the Continent.

She laughs again, and gods, it’s enough to make a dying flower bloom. He lets out a long sigh, as if all his frustrations had been dispelled, and he’s sure she senses this because there she is, with that smile that could melt winter. He’s smiling in return and when their eyes meet again, there she is.

Settled safely into the folds of his heart. A siren song, tinged with the scent of nightshade and seafoam. As strong as she is deadly.

“I won’t ask again, you know,” it’s teasing, but her voice emanates a midnight edge and Geralt _knows_ \- like he’s always known - there is weight in that threat.

Electricity seems to crackle in the silence that follows, the rising anticipation near palpable in the way the two of them move towards each other. A heartbeat passes, two… and then...

“Bed,” he replies, barely louder than a whisper, and she smiles as if she hadn’t expected anything less. 

He leans down to kiss her and she returns it with as much fervour. She tastes like the tempest, and the storm. Her skin with the scent of lilac and berries, and a sly promise of what awaits him tonight.

And he swears, he almost hears the crash of waves.

* * *

“Bend over.” 

He groans in response, the sheets slippery as he moves himself clumsily across the satin.

She has him sprawled on their bed, underclothes and armour in a forgotten corner of their room where they will remain until dawn. 

Before he moves, Geralt takes a moment to regard the black silks and ribbons wrapped around Yen’s curves. The way her hair drapes across her shoulders. The redness of her lips… She’s not worn that in some time. He wonders if today’s a special occasion. 

“Must I repeat myself?” Yen teases. She doesn’t sound like she minds, but there is a soft urgency to her tone.

“Just admiring the view,” Geralt murmurs, gaze never leaving as she adjusts the harness interlaced with the lace of her silks, lithe fingers wrapping around the black outline of her strap.

“Sweet talker,” she grins, a glint in her eye. “Now before I decide to another pressing matter, _bend over.”_

He chuckles and turns away without further comment.

His breathing is shallow, his mounting anticipation clear in how hard he is. Geralt draws a sharp inhale at the cold air now gracing his cock. _Fuck._ A groan leaves him as he lifts himself higher onto his knees, raising his hips to meet the familiar warmth of Yen’s strap, laced with the heat of her magic. 

She takes her time with him, like she always has, allowing her fingers to caress the scarred curve of his hips, along the dip of his thigh, and then back up to wrap securely around his cock.

A soft, trembling moan slips past his lips.

“Pretty,” she breathes, coiling lithe fingers tighter around him, urging another helpless sound to erupt from his throat.

“Y-Yen,” he gasps.

“Mm?”

“Yen, _please_ ,” he’s shaking. 

“Please?” she echoes with a coy uplift in her voice, barely leaving him time to respond when she slides a lubricated finger deep into him.

“Yes, _that_ ,” he replies, muffling the groan that follows into the pillows.

“Good,” she croons, thrusting into him, stretching him, curving deep and precisely towards that one spot--

Geralt’s legs buckle under his weight when she reaches his prostate, feeling the heat from his abdomen enveloping his entire body with _fire_. “F-Fuck,” he moans, rocking his hips back towards her, a trickle of precum dripping from his slit.

“More, my love?” she whispers, and it’s low and silken, eager to please. He’s nodding his head wordlessly, whimpering a soft stream of incoherent sounds, only growing louder in volume as she slides another finger in.

Another moan, long and drawn, shuddering into the very frame of their bed.

He feels the mattress dip, Yen’s heat approaching him even closer now. Her fingers never slow, easing in and out of him, fucking him to the tandem of his moans. He’s shaking, eager, urging her to go faster, _harder_ , and she wants nothing more than to coax him into peak after rapturous peak, undoing him in the most intimate way she knows how.

_“Patience_ ,” she croons but it seems to be more for herself.

He swallows but his throat is dry.

“Good,” she whispers. ”Now, higher.” The command is a murmur vibrating along his shoulder. Her fingers move intoxicatingly slowly now. Geralt shudders under her, gripping her all the more tighter. Shuddering, he does as he’s told, raising himself even higher, hips still moving at their steady pace. He’s desperate, urging more and more of her to enter him, to press against--

He cries out, another shaking moan torn from his throat. 

“Shh…” she hushes, edging him further, before her fingers begin to slip slowly out of his entrance.

A strained whine comes from her lover and she presses another hush to his shoulder. Carefully, she runs her hand along the curve of her strap, imbuing it with heat and magic as she keeps her gaze trained on the rise and fall of his back.

He’s close. She can feel it. She _tastes_ it in the air. 

“Relax,” she croons, aligning the tip of the toy against his shuddering entrance. He moans when she presses against him, teasing him, easing slowly into his body. 

Helplessly, Geralt moans into the pillows, his cock leaking all the more onto the stained sheets beneath them. Yen takes her time with him, lovingly thrusting her hips in small, fluid motions into him. Soft hushes are whispered into his shoulder, her body pressed flush against his back, her taking the lead and rocking all the way up to her hilt. 

It feels like electricity. Lightning. Crackling through the candlelight. Along his skin. Into his bones, right down to his core. 

Geralt moans again, hips thrusting back into Yen’s warmth, crying out each time their bodies meet. Her fingernails dig into his hips, her own thrusts quickening as well, matching the mounting fire building in his cock. It’s searing. Burning. He groans, legs trembling as he’s made to receive her again and again and again. 

“Look at you,” she murmurs, the heat from her magic searing deep into him. He gasps. It’s spreading deeper, pooling at his prostate, filling him up as if in anticipation of the climax to come. He whimpers, gripping the sheets violently. Yen is smiling as she teases his nipple between her fingers. “You’re doing so well.” 

He only gasps in response.

A soft chuckle, warm and laced with honey, drifts through the heated air, and she’s leading him to recline on his side now. “Careful,” she breathes, fingernails drifting along his thigh, down to grip the back of his knee, and lifts up his leg so that he’s able to better receive her. Geralt gasps, swallowing with his throat that’s long dried, and shudders at the cool sensation of her corset silks pressed against his back. What a sight he is right now.

“Yen,” he attempts to retort, but the objection immediately dissolves when she makes the first thrust. 

“Good boy,” she coos, easing another thrust into him, reaching deeper than ever now with his legs spread. Her breaths are hot, laboured, melting into the curve of his neck as she ruts wordlessly into him. Geralt feels the euphoria building in him, instinct taking over as he thrusts himself back towards her with each mounting fuck.

“Y-Yen,” he groans loudly.

“Yes, my love?” she manages, her hips never slowing.

“I’m close.”

“Good,” she coos, and Geralt gasps as she lifts him even higher. 

He lets out a loud quaking groan, the heat from the strap unbearable now. There’s a searing hot slick blooming inside him, filling him up, threatening to spill out from where he and Yen meet. _Fuck._ He ruts himself on her strap, moaning with abandon, feeling his pleasure mounting higher and higher, until… 

He turns his face to meet her gaze just as he climaxes, gasping an incoherent plead of “Yen” or was it “please”? He can’t tell, but the next he feels is her lips on his, and they’re wrapped in each other’s warmth, the fire in his loins finally releasing and he’s spilling himself shamelessly all over the sheets. 

Geralt whimpers, bucking into the cold air, spurts of come continuing to leak from him, as he rides the euphoria right down to the last, weak pulses of pleasure surging through his cock. 

He groans, willing his hips to stop moving, but they continue to pulse along the strap, feeding the slick and heat deeper into him. 

“Greedy boy,” Yen croons, more than happy to comply. 

“Just a little…” he allows the sentence to taper, his words barely a touch louder than a whisper. 

“We have all the time in the world, love,” she assures, and he feels the strap inside him burning into another heat.

_Fuck_ _._

“I hope you’re ready to make up for the time we spent away from each other,” she teases coyly, her hand caressing soft tendrils of magic to wrap around his spent cock.

He gasps, feeling the heat return to his abdomen, filling up his entire length, ready to build him up to his second peak.

_“F-Fuck.”_

“Language,” she teases, and picks up where she left off.

And like that, they settle back like smoke and debris. Falling perfectly into place. Nothing but the thrum of the world and their bodies moving in tandem existing for the night, their interlaced fingers the only warmth needed, until the end of time.


End file.
